My cousin Laura, daughter of my late, great, goddess-mother, Gita Tante, recently sent the extended family a remarkable photograph. It was a picture of Gita Tante, who had come back from the great beyond to say
hello to her daughter, and by extension, the many people she loved and called family and friends. But only Laura would have recognized her mother at the time she
miraculously captured the picture, because Gita Tante did not look the way she did when she lived on this earthly plane. Gita Tante had taken the form of a vivid,
blue bird, an
Indigo Bunting to be exact, that was perched on a branch overlooking her own
shrine. Laura had erected the shrine in the expansive garden Gita had lovingly created on the property of their country home. When Laura emailed the pictures of this extraordinary sight, it was accompanied with a note that told of a time when she had asked her mother, "If you were a bird, what bird would you be?" Gita Tante's reply was,
"The bluebird of happiness."
I'm pretty sure Gita Tante didn't just mean that she'd like to come back as a happy bird, because she most certainly knew how to get joy out of life, but that she wanted to be a
harbinger of happiness for anyone who encountered her. I also suspect that Gita Tante was thinking specifically of Laura at the time. Of course the love between mothers and their children is profound, perhaps the deepest connection a person can have, and Laura and Gita Tante had it in spades. But my belief that Gita Tante meant she wanted to make sure her daughter was
happy is
derived from another story in their lives, which happened several years earlier.
A number of years ago Laura suffered a debilitating depression. Although Gita was no stranger to dealing with depression in close family members, Laura's illness struck her harder than most, and Gita's concern for her daughter's despair was felt by the entire family. Like many members of the family, I sent out my
best thoughts and prayers to both my aunt and cousin, which included a silly note to help lighten a grave situation. It was was a hilarious cartoon from the twisted, creative genius of Gary Larson of
Far Side fame. I first came upon it many years before when I, too, was in a very dark place.
At the time I was completely bereft of any sense of humour, not unusual for a depressed state of mind, but I clearly remember that this particular
cartoon made me laugh out loud for the first time in many weeks. Indeed,
I still chuckle whenever I think of it. Hoping that it would evoke the same reaction in both Laura and Gita Tante, I sent it to them. Gita later told me how much the cartoon had amused her, and deeply appreciated that I had sent it along to Laura. So, copyright laws notwithstanding, I'm including it here. (I'm assuming my loyal legion of followers won't rat me out.)
Time passed, Laura recovered, and I didn't give that small exchange another thought until recently, when Laura emailed the photograph of a
rare and
stunning bird, sitting serenely above the shrine dedicated to my dear aunt, who was a rare and beautiful soul.
There is communal headstone in a lovely, secluded, hilltop graveyard marking the lives of six members of our family, including Gita Tante and her sister, my mother. The epitaph reads
Love Is Greater Than Death. Gita Tante had chosen that epitaph herself, and the arrival of that bluer-than-blue bird reaffirmed the profound
truth of those words. Laura got the message loud and clear; her mother loves her still, and always will. Like all messages from beyond, it had a ripple effect, reaching outward to touch numerous other people, including Gita's two sons, Edmund and Andris. Thanks to Laura's timely photograph, one of the other people Gita's message reached was me, her goddess-daughter.
It was Gita Tante, and not me, who coined the terms
goddess-mother and
goddess-daughter. She knew just how much those monikers would mean to me. Gita Tante was also well aware of my obsession with signs, messages, and messengers from other worlds, which is why I can't help thinking that her bluebird of happiness stint, rich with meaning for Laura, was partly a
wink in my direction, too.
I'm always searching for stories that fit the mandate of my little web, and this happy tale is a tailor-made fit. In fact, Gita Tante was my most devoted follower on this web of mine when she lived in this realm. By manifesting as a blue bird (not to be confused with a
bluebird), she has not only validated my beliefs, but given me the gift of a magical story to remember, and write. My wise and wonderful aunt has proved to me, from beyond the grave, that
magic and
miracles surround us everyday, if only we have eyes to see.
Thank you, Gita Tante, for the gift of joy you continue to share with your dear ones.
And thanks for showing me once again that the Goddess is alive and magic is afoot.
- G.P.
* photographs and floral arrangements by cousin Laura
** flowers grown by Gita Tante
Lately I'm seeing sweet, little things I haven't taken much notice of before. They've always been around, some of them right in my own backyard, but I wasn't looking very closely. Although my glasses are a stronger prescription, my vision has improved. That's a fair trade. And here's a fair sight of some of the daily delights that grace my wondering, wandering eyes...
I've come back to my little web today because I want my most recent blurb to be a happy one. (The one before this is about a bad habit of mine.) And since I don't have anything really profound or newsworthy to say (so what else is new?) I'll just wish everyone who passes this way a Happy Day!
I'm posting some pictures of my mini- holiday this past weekend, spent at a lakeside cottage with a couple of friends. I'm glad the national holiday happens in the summer, because swimming, canoeing, and drinking beer are just some of the things denizens of this land do to celebrate it, and I always take great pleasure in joining them. I certainly wouldn't be nearly so enthusiastic if the holiday happened in winter.
The only way I can forgive myself for the recent emergence of my dark side is to admit I'm only human, with all the flaws and weaknesses that that entails. I make mistakes and have regrets, which means I'm sometimes impatient and intolerant. Maybe if I learn to embrace my imperfect humanity, and forgive myself for occasional lapses in decency, I'll be able to forgive my flawed, human colleague as well.
Today is a quiet one. It's damp, mild, and grey outside. But I don't feel the same, which pleases and surprises me, because I'm laid low with a bum foot, and my sciatica has flared up again. Lying and sitting down hurt me much more than standing on my feet, so I haven't been able to do some of things I enjoy, like sleeping, reading, and writing long enough to get some much-needed rest, or get into a productive groove. Thanks to my smashed tootsie, I can't take a joy-walk, either. Yoga's out of the question for the same reason. But for all that, I'm feeling at peace. The gentle, grey day has muffled the sounds of a big city and makes me feel as if I'm encased in a cocoon.
I'm making do with writing a few sentences at a time, then rising up out of my chair to alleviate the discomfort of sitting for too long. Like most people who work at a desk, hunched over a computer, I spend too long in the same unhealthy position. Now my body is making sure I don't. In fact, I'm almost grateful for my current indisposition. When I'm hale and hearty I feel as if I have to be doing something all the time, and then end up feeling like a loser if I'm not.
There are no accidents. With my recent losses I now can see what I have left. My instincts for living more deliberately, slowly, and simply have always been right, but I've always felt pressure to do more in order to appear worldly. How shallow is that? But I'm grateful for that unflattering realisation as well.
